


You Can't Stay

by jscribbles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 04:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13966890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscribbles/pseuds/jscribbles
Summary: My follow up to the ending of 9.03.





	You Can't Stay

“You can't stay.”

Dean dragged his eyes up from the draw strings dangling out of Cas' hoodie, the ones he'd been addressing when he made that surprisingly steady statement. He dragged his eyes up and locked onto Cas', making sure not to break contact. The least he could do was hold that stare. If Cas' reaction caused the shame he felt, he deserved it. He deserved to see his face, to meet his eyes, even if it crushed him.

And God.  _God,_ it did. It hurt so badly. Cas stared up at him, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted. His eyes were wide, face frozen. For a second Dean thought the other man might cry, but then Cas broke the gaze, looking down at the table with a blinking eyes and an awkward clearing of his throat. With a horrible lurch of his stomach, Dean watched Castiel's cheeks grow red, the flush spreading down his neck. As he watched it happen, Dean could just imagine the sensation. As he watched it happen, his body sympathized. He imagined the humiliation settle deep in Cas' stomach, the shame spread heat throughout his limbs and up his chest. The burn of rejection made sweat gather under his collar and down his back. He felt warmth of it across the bridge of his nose and the pooling of it onto his cheeks. He saw Cas' hand reach up in an aborted movement to take off his hoodie, but it dropped down into his lap as he turned the chair away.

Dean sat there hopelessly and watched Cas get up, turning on his heel to leave. Though after a brief pause, he seemed to reconsider it and turned back around to face Dean, his mouth opening and closing a couple times.

“Cas, look --”

“No!” Cas interrupted. “No, it's fine. Of course. Of course. I should go. I don't ... I have no idea what I was thinking.”

Dean jumped to his feet, reaching out for Cas though he had no idea what he would do with his hands if they caught him. The new human didn't seem to notice, so wrapped up in his humiliation that he busied himself with pushing in the chair he'd vacated. Dean's hands hung in the air awkwardly.

“Cas, no. Listen --”

“It's okay. It's okay,” Cas murmured, stepping back from the chair before he reconsidered and pushed it in further, holding his hand against it assuredly as if he was tucking it into bed for the night. He then busied himself with picking up burrito wrappers from the table (“I'll just clean these up, then... I'll go. I'll go after that.”) and crushing them in his hands, pausing only to search wildly around the room for a garbage to put them in. Dean watched hopelessly, words jumping ship before they could leave his mouth. He didn't know what to say. He knew he should say something, should explain, but nothing came up as he watched his friend try to deal with being sent away.

“It's not okay,” Dean insisted, finally sliding off the table. He followed Cas when the twitchy human trudged into the kitchen. He tried to catch Cas' eye, but the blue orbs were trained to ground or to his task as he started wiping bits of rice and salsa off the counter, sweeping them into the sink. “Dude, you have to let me explain --”

Cas threw the rag into the sink with more force than he probably meant. It made a loud splat and knocked over a coffee mug, breaking off the handle with another loud noise. To Dean's surprise, Cas growled and muttered, “Fuck” as he picked up the broken ceramic in his hands and stared at it.

“I'm sorry,” he said sincerely, his voice steady and sympathetic, as if this was a regular, normal day and he had just broken a no name household item. Which was true, but the lack of turmoil in his voice betrayed his panicked rush and the slight tremble to his fingers. Dean wanted to slap the no name household item right out of his hands. “I'm sorry. I'll ... fix it some time.”

“No, Cas,” Dean huffed, throwing his hands up in the air, not believing he was talking about this. “Just fucking throw it out. Who cares about the stupid cup? Can you talk to me for two seconds?”

Cas still had his back half turned away, hands holding the mug gingerly. He stayed still like that for a moment longer than was comfortable before he then turned towards Dean. Making sure not to touch him, he walked past the hunter and threw the broken pieces in the trash by the door.

Dean stood in the kitchen and stared at the spot in front of the sink that Cas had just vacated, eyes wide and wet. He hated Ezekiel for putting him in this position. He hated the stupid look on Cas' face when he told him he couldn't stay. He hated it because it was worse than being yelled at or hit. He hated it because he'd never seen it from Cas before. He'd looked and surveyed and stared and glared at those facial features many times, he'd seen them arranged in a colourful variety of expressions, but never in that particular one. Never in one that was so hopeless, so lost, so open and scared. Even in the face of the apocalypse Cas had been strong -- even with his vessel melting off in front of a portal to Purgatory, he'd been determined. But he'd never seen him one hundred percent, entirely consumed with loss and fear.

Dean shook himself into the present and followed Castiel. He twisted into the hallway leading to their rooms, to his and Sam's, and to the room he'd personally set up for Castiel a week back. Cas walked in front of him, his pace quick. Dean called out to him, but the socked feet just shuffled quicker. Growling, Dean jogged up behind Cas and grasped him by the hoodie, yanking him back and turning his back against the wall.

Dean glared at Cas for a moment, anger draining from him when Cas just stood there against the wall, allowing himself to be held there, his head bowed and eyes glaring at the wall opposite him just over Dean's shoulder. The only movement he made was to sniff and jerk hoodie over his shoulder when it tried to slip off.

“Cas. Castiel, listen. Stop walking away from me, man. I have an explanation.”

“Please, Dean. Don't explain,” Cas pleaded, his voice a whisper. “You don't have to. You live here. This is yours. This belongs to you and Sam. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to assume --”

Dean was torn between hitting him and hugging him. Mostly he wanted to hit him though, if only because the profuse apology and self-deprecation was so frustrating and depressing.

“You have to go because...” Dean started slowly, taking a moments pause to think of the right words.  _Because my new guardian angel is a prick. Because angels are after you. Because demons are probably after you. Because you're in danger. Because you're_ a _danger. What? I know you're warded, but I... don't know. Because I have no fucking idea why you have to go. Because the big ball of dickbag angel possessing Sam wants you to go otherwise he'll basically kill Sam._

While Dean struggled with the explanation he'd so dearly wanted to deliver two seconds earlier, Cas took that opportune moment to lose his grip on himself. A hand hidden inside of a big hoodie sleeve came up and shielded his eyes as he struggled to compose himself, the tips of his fingers poking out to press his temple. Dean's heart jumped and his stomach clenched painfully, eyes wide and sparkling, lost in the face of his friend's pain. Cas sniffed wetly and his mouth opened to inhale shakily, his breath quiet but stuttered.

Dean shook his head, his teeth clenching. “Man. Cas, I'm... fuck. Shit.”

“If I had known earlier how empty and painful it felt to go hungry I would have never judged you in the past for eating so passionately.” Cas whispered, his teeth chattering despite the sweat glistening on his neck where his skin was still flushed red, “I h-hate being cold. And wet. Being wet is worse than being hungry. I had to sleep on a park bench completely soaked through and it was the first time I'd ever thought about how I'd love to own a second pair of socks.”

Dean's hand twisted in Cas' sweater, his head shaking slowly, staring at his friend chatter away wetly, his lips moist and a tear tracking down his face through his stubble.

“As an angel I never noticed people looking. But that's all I see now. People looking, people watching me. I hate it. I hate when they look at me. I hate them. I want them to stop looking at me.”

“Cas,” Dean breathed, shaking his head. 

“Please don't send me back out there,” he pleaded, eyes glazed in thick, hot pain. “I hate being dirty. I hate sleeping outside and smelling like sweat and rain and dirt. It hurts my back and my neck. It's difficult to sleep in the rain." Cas shut his eyes gently, brows raised. "I'm so selfish, Dean. I know. I know I am. I know we lived like that in Purgatory, but that was different. That was... pure.”

Dean, despite himself and this situation, nodded in understanding.

“And... I had you. Please forgive me. Please, Dean. I hate it,” he hissed suddenly. Castiel blinked furiously, sniffing and staring at Dean heatedly before the light went out behind his eyes and he repeated more softly, “I  _hate_  it. The loneliness is suffocating. Dean, I feel like I'm choking on it.”

Dean felt tears pricking in his eyes. He felt a rush of sympathy and something else, something deeper. It swept up his insides and twisted up through his lungs, curling around his heart before it settled there with a pull. He opened his mouth to take it all back, to tell Cas to forget all about it, to change into his new pyjamas and get into his very own bed.

“Cas,” Dean opened his mouth and said steadily, “you can't stay.”


End file.
